Going Somewhere? // [Florentine x Baby]

florentine.

i sit on the curb, swiped cigarette poised between my fingers, thinking. 

there's a whole pack in my pocket (almost untouched, twenty-eight in all) which previously belonged to one of the capitol staffers and was unwillingly donated to my cause at breakfast. i have been waiting for it all day, unwilling to risk confiscation, loathe to share. all throughout a boorish morning of studying various poisonous plants, a hand-to-hand combat session with an emotionally distant trainer, and an afternoon sparring  with the girls from one, i coveted this moment. 

i don't think i'm addicted. at least, i wasn't before i left; my supply relied completely on house parties and drunk, generous strangers. it was inconsistent, haphazard. in between, i forgot all about it. since the disco train, though, i've been craving a smoke. 

i only remember the requirement of a lighter when i am already outside in the darkness, knees-to-chest, all alone in the forbidden realm of the street. it's funny, in cool of the summer evening, that i have broken out of my cage and yet do not flee; that with my newfound freedom i just sit in the doorwell as though chained, choosing to stay and suck on tobacco as my release, completely resigned to my fate.

and now, not even that. i am only a traffic hazard, unused to the unpredictable movements of angry, self-possessed capitolites, a full pack of cigarettes and no way to light them.

from the doors behind me bursts a girl; another tribute, i think, somebody else risking consequences for being outside too late. i recognise her; she is the girl from nine, looking pretty strung out, glassy-eyed and pale. perhaps she has something even better that she'd be up for sharing. she staggers forward, not seeming to see me at all until she is draped across my arms. 

she laughs, surprising me. seems like the good stuff. 

"i think i slept walked here... were you... were you going somewhere?" 

i blink at her, trying to make sense of the size of her pupils, help her to get steady on her feet.

"just getting some air," i say, in a voice that a person might use on a skittish animal; friendly, nervous. "are you okay?" 

reflexively, i offer her my contraband packet. "do you want one?"